


The Gates, They Are Strong

by bertie456 (bertee)



Series: Bones: You're Lovely to Me [28]
Category: Bones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Parody
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-01
Updated: 2008-09-01
Packaged: 2017-10-27 20:32:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/299764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bertee/pseuds/bertie456
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Parody of some of the Bones badfic from ff.net as well as some of my own. /o\</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gates, They Are Strong

"Bones, we have a case."

Looking up from the remains in front of her, Brennan couldn't help but smile as her partner strolled through the doors to the Medico-Legal lab. Sure, there was a corpse which had been hacked into little pieces by a rusty machete lying on the table in front of her, but apparently her libido was the equivalent of the Energizer Bunny and simply could not be stopped. Resisting the urge to tackle-hug her devastatingly-attractive partner, pin him down and go at it like rabbits who'd snuck into the Viagra factory for snacks, she settled instead for simply watching as he approached.

Eyes roaming hungrily over his body in a not-technically-objectifying-because-that's-morally-wrong fashion, she tried to find a part of his body that she'd yet to fantasize about this week. _Hands? Check. Arms? Check. Head, shoulders, knees and toes? Check. Socks? Check. Belt-buckle? Check. Handcuffs? Check, as, although I don't believe in sex needing accoutrements, I'd still very much enjoy handcuffing him to the bed. Yum. Where was I? Oh, cologne? Check. Tie? Check. Pools-of-melted-chocolate (aka eyes)? Check._ She sighed to herself. _And it's still only Tuesday._

Wrinkling her brow in her patented I'd-like-your-fork-to-get-stuck-in-my-toaster look, she looked again, trying to find something she hadn't covered yet. As if on cue but actually by total coincidence, Booth pulled his poker chip out of his pocket, flipping it idly while he waited for his partner to finish daydreaming/drooling so that they could concentrate on the case. Obviously he didn't mind waiting for this, since solving real murders ranked somewhere below having sex with Bones, taking his son to the zoo, sharing painful memories about his past with surprising candor, and never ever going anywhere near Cam ever again. Ever.

Meanwhile, Brennan had settled on the poker chip and was now fantasizing to her heart's content. Ordinarily, she would have made the anthropological connection between the circular shape of the poker chip and the anthropological significance of the circle as a feminine shape in the same way that, anthropologically, things that were described as being phallic-shaped corresponded to men. However, all her training, knowledge and sophistication vacated her mind when she was having sexual thoughts about Booth, allowing her stream of consciousness to follow a much simpler path. _Circle. Round. Pancakes. Maple Syrup. Maple-syrup-covered Booth. Mmmh..._

Somewhat aptly, her eyes glazed over and a contented smile played on her lips, her mind now vacillating at random intervals between clinical-sounding anthropologist and a sex-line worker, _Mmmh, yes. I could take the syrup and let it drizzle ever so slowly across his transverse abdominals and other muscles that I've not mentioned before. Then I could let my tongue swirl over his skin as he growls my first name in a slightly-animalistic-but-mostly-really-hot way. And then, since that'll undoubtedly be enough foreplay for both of us, we can fall to the floor and sexual-intercourse each other's central-nervous-systems out._ She smiled brightly, pleased with her concoction. _Yep, that'll do nicely tonight when I'm touching myself and wishing it was him. Excellent._

Satisfied with her plan for future Boothgasms, Brennan finally turned her attention to her partner. "A case?"

"Yep," the agent replied with a smile, pocketing his chip and stepping forward. "We got a body."

Her face fell slightly. "Oh. I was hoping for a drug bust."

Booth placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Sorry, Bones. But face it, when do we ever have a case which _doesn't_ involve me telling you we've got a body?"

She folded her arms, pouting. "Well, you still don't have to say it like it's some kind of revelation."

Booth looked overly perplexed by her use of a word with more than three-syllables, despite the fact that he seemed perfectly intelligent the rest of the time, but responded with a Charm Smile (patent pending), "Sorry. Didn't mean to get your hopes up."

Fully aware that the CS could make her forgive him anything from leaving her to look after his son for a week to accidentally getting her pregnant with adorable twins who looked so much like both of them, Brennan opted not to fight its magical powers and gave in. "It's fine. Are we going to go see the remains now so that you can pull faces about how disgusting it is?"

"Nah," he replied with a shrug. "All that would accomplish is you spouting off loads of technical words which I'd have to go do research for, and then we'd move the body back to the lab and get on with the important part of the case. How about I just give you a handy summary now so that we can get on with it?"

"Sounds logical. Fire aroad."

"Fire away, Bones," he corrected tiredly. "Fire away." He paused. "Did you just make up that word to get it wrong on purpose?"

Brennan lowered her eyes guiltily. "Maybe." _Can I help it if you're hot when you're correcting me?_

Shaking his head, he got down to business. "We think there's a serial killer operating in a neighborhood in North-East DC."

"How big of an area do you mean?"

"A neighborhood-sized area."

"Which part of DC?"

"The part that's North and then East a bit."

"Does it have a name?"

"Sure it does. North-East DC."

"'Kay."

"'Kay?" Booth eyed her suspiciously. "Aren't you going to ask how we got to the serial killer conclusion?"

Brennan shrugged. "I was just going to go with it. I know how much you hate doing research."

Not about to turn down a Get Out of Research Free card, he continued, "Anyway, we think this serial killer used to be an assassin for one of the many, many mob families which operate here in DC. The We-Provide-Random-Information-On-Mafia-Dons Team at the FBI think he worked for the Dorito family."

"The Doritos? Have we dealt with them before?"

Booth nodded. "Yep. They're affiliated with the Cheeto, Frito, Tostito and Pringle families."

"Pringles?"

"They're new," he explained with a grin. "They used to associate more with the Linguine, Fusilli and Tagliatelle families before they got kicked out for breaking too easily under pressure."

The respectable, highbrow part of her groaned inwardly at the terrible joke, while the other, horny-as-hell part decided that anything said in that smooth, silky voice of his was enough to turn her on. Sighing softly to herself, she directed the conversation back on topic, "What does this have to do with the serial killer?"

Flipping open his suddenly-present file, Booth read aloud, "The victims were all married couples who lived in the same area and who were all killed by a gunshot wound to the head after the killer had tied them up and explained his plan to them in full. Coincidentally, all the male victims were six-foot-one with soft dark hair, deep brown eyes and tanned skin, while all the female victims were five-nine with gently curled auburn hair, enchanting blue eyes and porcelain skin. So, Cullen's sending us undercover on the off-chance that the killer might come after us."

Temperance frowned, trying hard to remember who Cullen even was after not seeing him for two years. Attempting to hide the fact that she was almost giddy with excitement at the prospect of being married to, sharing a house with, and sleeping in the same bed as Seeley Booth, she inquired with heretofore unheard of logic, "But I'm not with the FBI. Surely there must be hundreds of other agents who would be better-trained or more suitable for undercover work than us?"

Her partner gave her his familiar you-may-be-a-very-hot-genius-scientist-but-sometimes-you-act-like-you're-challenged look. "Bones, Cullen requested us for this. Remember Cullen? The guy whose daughter we helped a while ago but who hasn't been back since because no-one can work out if he would actually like you now? My boss, Cullen? If anyone would know that we're the only two people in the entire FBI who could solve this case, it'd be him."

She nodded slowly. "That's rational." _God bless you, Cullen._ _I may be an atheist, but since I plan on screaming "_ _Oh_ _Gaw_ _d,_ _Se_ _eee_ _el_ _eeee_ _ey_ _!" in bed when I'm having sex with Booth on this undercover mission, I may as well convert now. Next stop: a big church wedding._ _Yay!_ She took a deep breath. _Dammit_ _, Temperance; focus._ "So what do we do?"

Booth seemed confused as to why she was confused. Or at least, that's what she thought he was confused about. Booth appeared to spend a lot of his time being confused. Nevertheless, he pulled it together, obviously using one of his assorted sniper senses, and replied matter-of-factly, "We move in together in a house that the FBI has already filled with furniture, because dozens of agents loading our belongings into a house wouldn't seem suspicious at all."

"No more than a best-selling author going undercover and not being recognized by anybody," she agreed, smiling warmly at him.

"Right. Then we spend some time meeting the neighbors and fitting into the neighborhood, but we don't have to worry about jobs, or money, or cover stories, or anything practical because the killer will come and kidnap us on the second night."

 _Meet neighbors, no jobs, get kidnapped. Yep, I'm following so far. Wait…_ "The _second_ night?"

He nodded. "Yep. Because on the first night, we'll share a bed together. You'll wake up scared and frightened after having a nightmare about either your traumatic time in the foster system or about being buried alive, and I'll wake up at the same time from a nightmare about my time as a prisoner of war. We'll comfort each other, obviously not wearing much in the way of pajamas-"

"Obviously," she contributed, already planning to forget to pack her pajamas just so she could have an excuse to borrow one of Booth's over-sized, vintage tee shirts.

"Then we'll have comfort sex to make each other feel better," he continued casually.

Brennan frowned, folding her arms under her breasts in order to convey disapproval as well as giving an appreciative Booth an good view of her cleavage. "But I have walls."

"Walls?"

She nodded with conviction. "Yep. Big, huge, wall-shaped walls. It's the metaphor of choice for how socially closed off and distant I am."

"Oh." Booth pursed his lips, thinking of possible siege tactics. "Well, that's what the pre-sex snuggling is for. Y'know, you're scared and emotionally vulnerable, I'm half naked and emotionally vulnerable, we snuggle to comfort each other..."

"And so comfort sex is the only logical progression," she finished, happy with any plan that involved the word 'logical'.

"Exactly."

Brennan's eyes lit up as she caught on, continuing, "And then we'll feel guilty about taking advantage of each other so we'll have self-hating sex."

"And then we'll claim we weren't being taken advantage of and have angry, up-against-the-wall sex," Booth added, working through the Brennan and Booth's Sexcapades he'd drawn up on the day he'd first met her.

"Then we'll be so turned on even after the angry sex that we have passionate, wake-the-neighbors sex," she stated, pleased.

Booth grinned. "The neighbors will never have liked us anyway. Then after that, we'll feel bad about the argument, and go back to the comfort sex again."

"It's a vicious cycle."

"It really is."

"So when will we get kidnapped?"

Booth cast his eyes heavenwards as he tried to remember, eventually saying definitively, "Sometime between wall sex and neighbors sex. The killer will knock us out, but in a way that doesn't cause us serious mental health problems later in life, and transport both of us to an abandoned warehouse without being spotted by anyone and without having any problems moving our dead-weight bodies on his own. He'll then tell us his plan, move over to shoot you, but then I'll somehow get free and shoot him instead."

"Sounds like a plan."

"Did I miss anything out?"

 _Sex, yep._ _Nudity, yep._ _Violence, yep._ _Awkward tension, yep._ _Me_ _and Booth in bed together, yep. No Cam, yep._ _Parker?_ _Darn._ "Your son? Aren't you going to see him at some point?"

Booth's eyes widened and he checked his watch. "Guess I'll go do that now. See you later, Bones."

Remembering that 'hello's and 'goodbye's were entirely unnecessary in their working relationship, Temperance turned pointedly back to her remains and Booth ambled out of the Jeffersonian just before a squeal at a pitch only bats (and Brennan) could hear ripped through the lab, "Sweetie!"

Apparently sticking with the "bat" theme, Angela emerged, Dracula-like, from the same Etruscan burial crypt she'd been drawing for years now, and swooped on Brennan, practically salivating at the scent of gossip and sexual innuendo in the air. "OMFG, you're sleeping with Booth?"

Brennan looked at her with a mixture of pity and discomfort, "Angela, is Hodgins not around anywhere?"

The artist shrugged, her grin seemingly glued in place. "He's off looking at types of first-bug-name-that-came-up-on-Wikipedia maculates, which means I've got all the time in the world to pry for inappropriate details about you and Booth. Have you slept together yet? Was he good? Was he the best you've ever had? How many times did he make you c-"

"Ange!" she interrupted forcefully, before looking at her friend with concern. "Is Hodgins not satisfying you sexually anymore?"

Angela looked confused. Brennan clearly had this effect on most people. "Hodgins is great, Bren."

"Then why are you still trying to live vicariously through me and Booth? Surely if you were happy in your relationship, you wouldn't need to intrude in mine so much?"

Breaking with the earlier bat-theme, Angela remained unflappable, instead giving the anthropologist a friendly smile. "I am happy, Bren. But as wonderful as Hodgins is, I still like the occasional Booth-oriented fantasy. Everybody does."

Feeling suddenly insecure, she managed a half-hearted scoff of skepticism, "Everybody? The whole world cannot find Booth attractive."

Angela gave her a pitying look. "Trust me, sweetie, they do. Not that any of us are going to act on it, since we wouldn't want to get in the way of you two making incredibly cute babies together, but we're pretty much all thinking that the man is hot."

Partly reassured, partly appalled, Brennan asked in disbelief, "Really?"

Sensing the need for proof, the artist yelled across the lab, "Cam!"

Brennan held back a hiss when the pathologist popped up from behind a corpse, obviously enjoying a break from plotting wicked things against the future happiness of Brennan and Booth, and yelled back with a shrug, "The man is hot."

 _Exhibit B._ "Zach!" Angela yelled again.

Surprised by the fact that someone was talking to him, Zach suddenly materialized next to them on the platform and said obediently, "Objectively, Agent Booth is very attractive."

 _And exhibit C…_ "Jack!"

Not even looking up, the entomologist called in nonchalant reply, "I'd tap that."

Brennan just looked between them, feigning horror to mask the fact that she was ready to karate-chop them all for even looking at her Seeley. "You're all sick."

"No, sweetie, we just aren't blind." Giving her a smile, the artist did her best to fulfill her role as caring-yet-prompting best friend. "Everybody wants to tap that too, Bren. And obviously Hodgins won't because he's not gay, Zach won't because Booth's not gay, I won't because I'm your friend and Cam won't because you'd kill her dead in under five seconds. But somewhere, sometime, some evil blonde lawyer-bitch might, so you need to hurry up and get that man into bed. Now. Today."

"But…" Temperance began, unable to resist protesting despite the fact that she'd already mentally picked out the panties that Booth would be ripping from her body with his teeth that evening.

Angela moved in closer to Brennan, her voice soft and compassionate as she imparted the most important piece of friendly advice she would ever give. "Sweetie… go make babies."


End file.
